


I'm a Bitch Vampire. Yay....

by reluctant_abandon



Category: J2 AU - Fandom, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bloodplay, Dominance, M/M, Mates, Slavery, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctant_abandon/pseuds/reluctant_abandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire movies? Full of shit. That's what Jared learns when he's forcibly turned and caged, set to be sold into vampire slavery. Turns out, the big bad variety of vampires only feed from other vampires. And little bitch vampires like him? They're sold as walking blood bags and pets. Freshly turned and in the home of his owner, Jared struggles to understand his new nature and his new master. Stockholm Syndrome, anyone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We keep the harem in the basement, between the torture chamber and the mass grave.

Last I saw, the Alpha Kappa Lambda house was burning to the ground. Gas leak, they said—while lighting the match. And if the cops write off twelve bodies with holes in their necks and no charring in their lungs as fire victims, CSI was some bullshit. The brothers were dicks, though, so whatever. 

I'm sorry, is that cold? I'd cry a river, but I don't exactly have time for PTSD just now. The P in that acronym means “post,” you know, and I'm right in the middle of some serious fucking trauma, so it'll have to wait. Maybe when I'm not bent double in a wire cage, like a bad dog, I'll care again. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm a dick now, too. All the other vampires are. Yep, you heard that right. I'm a vampire. Yay.... 

Speaking of things that were full of shit? Every vampire movie ever. I always thought it'd be kinda cool, you know? Being an eternal badass … kinda cool. I was going to be a good vampire, obviously. Not a pansy like Twilight. I've still got my balls. But I'd rock the Lestat diet and only kill scumbags. Maybe go the Angel route and drink me some pig's blood. Yeah, you caught me, I've given this some thought. I've read the books, watched the tv shows … I may or may not have roleplayed as an epic D&D vampire in high school. 

So, yeah, I'm a geek. A spazz. Starting to see why I'm not sobbing over some 'roid brained frat bros? We didn't exactly mesh. But what could I do? I'm a legacy, and I had some dad points to make up—being a flaming homo and all. 'Course, if I knew I'd end up in a cage destined for vampire slavery, I'd have done things a little differently. That's right. Eternal badass? Not so much. Eternal bitch, more like it. 

You see, it's been explained to me that real vampires—the strong ones—can't drink human blood. They drink the blood of little bitch vampires like me. But bitch vampires are in short supply, so slavers turn people. The newbies turn into feeders or bleeders. The newb feeders are killed, because there isn't enough bitch blood to go around, and the bleeders are sold like pets. So, again, yay.... I'm a bleeder vampire … still alive, but this cage will probably be the high point of my eternal life. And my philosophy paper is going to be seriously late. 

The sobs from the chick caged next to me cut off with a gasp. The room goes silent. The only sounds are the heavy metal door scraping open and footsteps. Again. The last time the slavers brought a patron through, they dragged us out of our cages, one at a time, and made us stretch and pose—like some demented gym class. Luckily, no one seemed excited by a towering dude with rippling muscles. 'Cause, yeah, I'm a homo, but I'm also a cliché. What better closet for a good ol' Texas boy than a football field?

So, I duck my head but square my shoulders—trying to look like six feet and four inches of problem. The footsteps approach, only pausing before one or two cages before reaching mine. They pause. Linger. 

“Look at me.” 

A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, a thousand strategies. In the end, I raise my chin but fight to keep my expression blank. I sure as fuck don't want to end up a glorified blood bag, but the slavers killed twelve people because they weren't' useful, so … there's that. 

The man crouches down, and I glance into his face. Our gazes meet and I realize my mistake instantly. He appears big. Not as big as me, maybe, but big enough. He's handsome, and I notice. I feel my eyes widen, can't stop my gaze from flitting to his sinful mouth. Grimacing, I avert my eyes. 

“Say something,” the man orders. 

Mind swimming, I eventually murmur, “Something.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I wish I'd said something else. My heart sinks when he stands and says, “This one.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn't like to see—”

“This one.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

A gasp of relief comes from down the line, and I squeeze my eyes closed in failure. Then the lock on my cage jangles and clicks open. Despite my fear, the sound is a relief. I squirm, turn myself around, and crawl out. As I stand, my aching knees pop. I bend to massage them, huffing out a breath at my complete lack of badassery. Being a vampire sucks. 

***

Two hours later, I'm sitting in some swanky limo with darkened windows. My owner is sitting across from me, staring like he's been doing for the last hour. He hasn't spoken, but he won't stop staring. My knee's bouncing and my skin feels about three sizes two small. Awkward. Crazy awkward. 

A hundred questions are circling my mind. I didn't exactly get the vampire handbook, you know? Plus, I'm curious about the staring man. He hasn't tried to eat me yet, which seems like a good sign, but he's not friendly, either. What he is, is hot. Long eyelashes frame his pretty green eyes. He's got a lush mouth, freckles that—forgetting the circumstances—are damn near adorable, and a toned body. The type of guy I'd admire from afar in a club. The type of guy way too hot for a spazz like me. 

Unfortunately, this is a hostage situation, not a date. 

Another ten minutes tick by in agony. With a little flail, I groan and say, “So....” 

Rather than respond, he quirks an eyebrow and waits. 

“Am I going to be alive long, or....” 

“No.” As my stomach turns over, he adds, “You're already dead.”

I squint at him, trying to decide if he's made a bad joke or a threat. His face remains maddeningly impassive. Another tense silence falls as he continues to stare. 

Finally, finally, he says, “How long you remain undead is up to you.” 

“How?” 

He only stares. 

“Okay.” I fidget under his attention, somehow more nervous than I was a minute earlier. “So, like, if I play, play along I won't get hacked to pieces in the bathtub?” 

His mouth opens in a silent laugh before he schools his expression. Like an actor. Or a frat bro trying to look intimidating. I feel my own mouth part in hope and awe. 

“You saw that?” I ask. 

He scowls and, voice menacing, says, “I like gallows humor.” 

“Oh.” After another bout of staring, I dare, “Should I call you Master, or....” 

Another dry quirk of his eyebrow. “Do you want to call me Master?”

“Do you want me to want to call you Master?” 

Our gazes catch, and despite his stoic expression, I sense his amusement. Finally, he says, “Jensen's fine.” 

“Jensen. Nice. I'm Jared.” 

Starting to extend my hand, I remember myself and jerk it back. He does smirk then, and his gaze meets mine, hooded and a little hungry. I look at the ceiling, the floor, out the blackened window—anywhere but at him. He snorts. 

“Relax. Blood's a nasty stain and I just detailed the upholstery.”

Super comforting. I groan, but force myself to say, “You take care of your toys, at least.” 

“Yes, Jared.” His growl of a response forces my gaze to his. “As long as they please me, I take care of my toys.” 

I nod, but can't respond. He isn't planning to kill me quickly, but I'll have to work for my survival. I'll have to serve him. My future spreads before me in images of blood and cages—pain. I think of my family. If I'm good enough, might I see them again? Or are they gone forever. Do they think I died in that fire? Is my momma crying right now? 

“Can I sleep?” I ask. 

“I doubt it, but you can shut your eyes and pretend.” 

So that's what I do. 

***

I startle awake to rhythmic pounding on the windows. It's incredibly loud, like everything else now. Jensen's gone. The door yanks open and a blond guy pops his head inside. 

“Sleeping? You're fresh as shit, huh? Poor fucker.” He laughs, points, and says, “Let's go.” 

As I climb out of the small limo, I look the guy over. He's lanky with gelled hair, squinty eyes, and a douchebag goatee. Imagining him in the same space as Jensen seems absurd. I open my mouth to say something—I'm not sure what—when I see the house behind him. House, mansion, whatever. It's huge. I'm standing in one of those circular driveways with a fountain at the center.

Beyond the fountain, though, I see woods. A lot of woods. Enough to run and hide in. I hesitate, listening to the thrum of the blond's blood. He's human. He'd never catch me, and Jensen's nowhere in sight. 

Out of the corner of his mouth, the blond says, “It's a trap” and laughs. He laughs a little longer, obviously very amused with himself, then adds, “Or go for it, man. Jensen'll be pissed, but Chris will love you. He's been bitching about how bored he is for a week. Fucker's fast, though. Probably give you a head start just for kicks.”

He's still chuckling and I'm hit with the sudden desire to bite him. My attention focuses on the blood pumping beneath the skin of his neck. Seemingly reading my mind, he waggles a finger before my eyes. 

“Nah, man, I'm not on the menu anymore.” Suddenly serious, he looks me in the eye and warns, “Do yourself a favor and only feed when Jensen says, yeah? And play it cool. His last bleeder started fucking his blood source, my pal Mike.” He grimaces. “Did not end well.” 

“Ah, okay?” But something tweaks me as off. When I realize what it is, I ask, “Wait, so Jensen only has one, ah, bleeder? There isn't like a harem, or something?” 

“Yeah, dude, we keep the harem in the basement, between the torture chamber and the mass grave.” He rolls his eyes. “Get a grip.” 

Bristling, I snap, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” 

After a long moment of squinting, he slaps me on the shoulder and says, “Sorry, dude. You're all right. I'm Chad, by the way. Come on.” 

I follow him through the front door and through the house. And while I can't stop gaping, he can't stop talking. 

“So, you can pretty much go wherever. The windows are bloodsucker friendly. And pretty soon you'll stop sleeping, so you'll have some serious time on your hands. Like I said, Chris gets bored as shit.”

“Chris?” 

“An old friend of Jenny's.” He grabs my arm and shakes his head hard. “Don't call him Jenny. Anyway, Chris, he's, yeah, just … he's been threatening to kill me since he showed up, but he's not serious. Shaved my head once, though. And once I woke up on the roof. But mostly he's whatever.” 

“Okay … is he going to be like, are they going to share me?” 

“Nah, man. Chris feeds from Steve.” 

I nod, but have to ask, “But Jensen doesn't? Isn't there enough blood to share, or what?” 

“Chris doesn't share well. I drank his whiskey once and the fucker wouldn't let me sleep for three days. Anyway, he and Steve are like gay vampire married or some shit.”

“Oh.” 

“Lame, right? When I get my fangs, I'm going to spend eternity chasing strange.” Affecting an accent, he says, “Like, they keep getting older, but I stay the same age.” 

I can only nod as he laughs and throws open a door off a long hallway. Inside is a bedroom in navy and silver, the bed a mammoth thing with sheer bed curtains. I follow Chad inside, but part of me is waiting for the punchline. It's a giant step up from the cage I was expecting. 

“This is you. Grab a shower.” He motions to a closed door. “Ah, you're not gonna be a pansy and kill yourself or anything, right?” 

Voice breaking, I ask, “Should I?” 

My question only earns me a punch to the shoulder and a jeering, “Don't be a bitch.” 

***

I stay in the shower a long time. I've been cold since this started. In the cages, one of the girls said it goes away. Like the need to sleep, I guess. All I know is, the scolding water against my skin feels heavenly. Heavenly … I never thought I'd thank the bigots at our church all but chased me away with pitchforks, but I'm grateful now. I don't have the energy for a crisis over Hell. Not when I might be living it. Or not. Shit, what do I know? 

I know Jensen didn't hurt me. That Chris and Steve are in love, that vampires love. That Chad is half-passed annoying and no one's killed him yet. That I'm in a bedroom instead of a cage. Things could be worse. 

Stockholm Syndrome, anyone? 

Climbing out of the shower, I shiver as I towel dry and move into my room. There's a change of clothes—not new—on the bed and I don them happily. They more or less fit, which is more worrying than anything. If these vampires are from the age-equals-strength cannon, I'm fucked anyway, but size was my last hope for an advantage. Coming across a vampire the size of me isn't on my shortlist of things to do today. 

Though … I guess I'm a vampire the size of me. Or I will be, when I get the hang of things. Somewhat heartened by the thought, I wander to the mirror. Reflection? Check. Bullshit movies. 

I look basically the same. A little pale. I growl, but see only human teeth. Focusing harder, I growl again. Nothing. 

“So, pain?” 

I slap myself in the face. Growl. Nothing. I slap myself again. Nothing. Balling up my fist, I try to deliver a punch, which, yeah, is harder than you'd think. I pull it a couple times before landing a solid whack. Growl. I see a red-faced idiot. 

“The fuck you doing?” Chad asks. 

Scratching the back of my head, I admit, “Ah, fangs?”

“Fuck me. You get to be a vampire, but I don't? God must be a woman.” Chad shakes his head. “Leave the fangs to Jensen and work on your hearing, bitch. I was humming in the hallway and your newb ass didn't hear me.” 

Irritated, I snarl at him. Then quickly check the mirror. At my crestfallen expression, Chad cackles until he's got a hand clutching his chest and tears in his eyes. 

“Fuck you, Chad.” 

“In your dreams, sweetheart.” He blows me a kiss and cackles harder as I scowl. “Come on.” 

I keep scowling as I follow him around the house, Chad giving me the tour. There's a home theater, a billiard room, and—I fuck you not—a bowling alley. All attempting to cure the “bored as shit” aspect of vampirism, I guess. 

I'm just starting to forget we're fighting when Chad stops in front of a door and says, “This is Jensen.”

I only nod, wait for him to move on, then finally say, “Okay.” 

“Go in, dumbass.” 

“Now?” As his face screws up and his mouth opens to spew another insult, I hold my hands up and snap, “Right, now. I got it.” 

He grins, then leans close to my ear and whispers, “Remember, blood, yum. Blood donor, icky icky poo poo.” 

“Icky icky poo poo?” I echo. 

“You got it!” He swings open the door and slaps me on the back, pushing me inside before sauntering off. 

Regaining my balance, I look up to see Jensen standing with a big guy. Just about as tall as I am, but built like a brick wall. Judging by the extra room in the shirt I'm wearing, I've found my clothes donor. Luckily, I can hear the thrum of his blood from where I stand. 

Both of the men are staring at me, so I offer an awkward, spastic little wave. Eyes sliding shut in humiliation, I mutter, “Hi.” 

“Hi, Jared? It's nice to meet you. I'm Jeff.” 

Jeff walks over, sure and easy, and shakes my hand. His smile is wide and open, and he is handsome—despite being a good bit older. Looks like a bear, or a Bad Professor fantasy come to life. Conscious of Chad's advice—and if listening to Chad isn't a sign of desperation, I don't know what is—I smile casually, but turn my gaze to Jensen. When all I get for my trouble is a mocking smirk, I think maybe my hearing should be better. Jensen, obviously, can hear through doors. 

Fucking Chad. 

“You smell better,” Jensen says. 

Which, yeah, probably not a compliment. Maybe Jensen should try shitting in a cage for a week and see how he likes it. Nodding slowly, I mutter, “Thanks.” 

Jensen frowns, but only asks, “What was your feeding schedule like?” 

Flinching, I think back to the frat house. How they drained blood from us before we turned. How they made me drink some and took the rest. How every time they handed out dixie cups of the cold, red sludge while I was caged, I knew we were drinking each other's blood. The dead blood of our dead friends. Luckily, it hadn't happened often. 

“Two days ago. Then four before that. And when I turned.” I shrug. “A small cup each time.” 

Jensen's lips purse. “No wonder you're still sleeping. You've barely transitioned and they're starving you.” 

“They're mass murderers and human traffickers. I didn't get a mint on my pillow, either.” I hear the words only after they leave my mouth and grimace. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” 

“Relax, kid,” Jeff says, laughing. “He's going to bite, either way. You don't have to walk on egg shells.” 

I look to Jensen. He doesn't smile. I whisper another “sorry.” 

Jensen is playing his staring game again, so I play my fidgeting game. Jeff chuckles. Everyone's having a fabulous time at the vampire house except me, it seems. And maybe Jensen. He's pretty moody for an eternal badass. Not as moody as Angel, though—the pussy. Stop with the brooding already, am I right? 

“Jeff will be your donor for the foreseeable future,” Jensen says. “You will feed only from him and only in my presence, at least until you can be trusted. Jeff, why don't you take a seat.” 

As he sits and Jensen pulls out a knife, I look around for a cup or something. Am I supposed to just gnaw on his neck? Hesitant to annoy Jensen again, I still can't help but ask, “Can't I drink from a cup?” 

Jensen grimaces like I asked to drink puppy blood. He snaps, “No.” 

“But—”

“Jared, three things.” He ticks them off on his fingers as he speaks. “One, stale blood is disgusting. Two, you'll need to drink from the vein eventually, and if you haven't mastered the skill, you'll rip someone's head off. Three, you're a vampire—suck it up.” 

My pout earns a genuine grin from him and the sullen expression falls from my face. 

“It's okay, Jared,” Jeff says. “I know what I signed up for.” 

As I nod, Jensen lifts the knife and presses it against Jeff's neck. He turns to look at me, our gazes catching, as the scent of blood fills the air. I part my lips, expecting the thrust of my fangs. Nothing! Damn it. 

“Am I fucked up or something?” I demand. 

“You haven't needed your fangs to feed, that's all. You'll learn.” Jensen drags his finger through the blood and brings it to hover before my lips. I seek out his gaze, unsure. “Open your mouth for me.” 

I lick my lips before parting them. Jensen's finger presses closer, slips inside. My eyes close at the first hint of blood. His fingertip rubs against my gums and my lips tighten around the digit subconsciously. I lathe my tongue against him, searching for the taste teasing my senses. When he pulls free, the finger drags over my bottom lip, sparking something low in my belly. My eyes snap open and he's there, staring, even as two fingers, dripping blood, beg entrance. 

I open for him and they slip over my tongue. Without thinking, I grope for his arm and fist the fabric of his shirt. I suck, hard, and my fangs surge free. They nick the sides of his fingers and his taste explodes in my mouth. I hear the hitch in his breath, but only tighten my grip on him and pull him closer. Sucking him and bathing him with my twining tongue, I chase the taste until I've licked him clean and his blood no longer flows. When he tries to pull away, I still whimper an objection. 

“Shh. Here.” His other hand grips the nape of my neck, urges me downward. I bend, allow him to position me, and when his fingers pull from my mouth with a wet pop, he forces my mouth against Jeff's bloody neck. “Drink, Jared. Drink.” 

My tongue swipes against skin, once, twice, and then my jaws widens. His hand tightens and I sink my fangs deep. Pulling back, I moan at the gush of blood bathing my tongue and all but slithering down my throat before I can swallow. Jensen's hand glides from my neck to my hair, caressing and petting. 

Vision whitening, hand groping to grip Jensen's shoulder rather than his shirt, the blood slows. I sink my fangs in a second time, not meaning to, whining at the back of my throat at Jeff's gasp of pain. 

“Yes,” Jensen whispers. “You're doing so good. Just a little more, Jared.” 

I suck until I feel both brimming with energy and as if I might collapse into a panting heap on the floor. Jensen's fingers skim over my face, around my stretched lips, and I'm hard instantly. I pull him closer, but his hand returns to the nape of my neck. He squeezes, hard. 

“Stop sucking, Jared. Lick.” When I draw back and lathe my tongue over the wound, again and again, he whispers, “So good.” 

When the blood slows to a trickle, he pulls me upright. Eyes glazed, body demanding, I watch him take my hand and lift it to my mouth. A pinch of pain, and he shows me the droplet of blood welling on my fingertip before he drags it across the fang marks on Jeff's neck. An instant later, the wounds close. 

“You see, he's fine.” 

Jensen's gaze meets mine. The hunger there is like a kick to the stomach. My fingers dig into his shoulder even as I realize I'm still clutching at him. He only smiles and raises his hand to my mouth. My lips part automatically, as if we've played this game a hundred times rather than once. His fingertip swipes across my lip, coming back bloody. Still promising me the world with his hooded eyes, he rubs the blood over his own lips. His tongue slips out to lick it clean, and then he's sucking that plump bottom lip into his mouth and releasing it with a small hum of pleasure. 

“You were amazing.” 

Lust licks hard at my over-sensitized nerves, chasing sanity from my mind. Overwhelmed, I step back, dragging him with me until I remember the death grip I have on his shoulder. Forcing myself to release him, I wring my hands before me, half-heartedly hiding my erection but only drawing more attention to it. 

“Jared, you—”

“Can I take a shower?” I blurt. 

Jensen tilts his head to the side, but nods. 

“You did great, kid,” Jeff says, looking all casual and easy going. 

I make a strangled babbling sound, turn on my heels, and run.


	2. Lick it, bitch! Lick my rock-hard, triumphant ball!

So, yeah, turns out, I'm a vampire slut. I sucked Jensen's fingers like they were his cock, and if he'd offered that … but, on the other hand, learning to feed is a sensual process. Just look at the Vampire Diaries. Shut up, what am I supposed to reference? The vampire down the street? Plus, if vampires are real, maybe the writers are in the know, right? Whatever. Elena got all blood high, forgot boring-ass Stefan even existed, and dirty danced with Damon like it was her job. Of course—Damon. Am I right? If I wasn't gay before..... 

The point is, feeding and sex go hand in hand. So my epic display of whoreitude was natural. 

With a whimper, I flip to my stomach and bury my face in the pillow. I don't even need to breathe. I could stay here forever. Forever and ever. 

Footsteps. Obviously. But at least I hear them this time. Chad doesn't knock. Again. The fucker. I refuse to budge as he circles, stops, and—I'm guessing—stares. 

“Jeff said it went well?” 

I groan into the fabric and pray he'll disappear. My body bounces as he jumps onto the bed. 

“Come on, J-Bird, talk to me, man.” 

Or I could stab myself in the eye. Sounds slightly more appealing. 

“You wanna know something hilarious about vampires, dude?” He pauses for a response, but I don't move. Beause, no, I really don't. “Everything's heightened, you know? So sex is ridiculous. But you're also stupid ticklish.”

I tense, but I have to admit, I think he's bluffing. Who would be stupid enough to tickle a vampire? And then his fingers are digging into my sides, like we're kids, or like he's known me forever instead of ten minutes. I fight it, grit my teeth, squirm, then start laughing as I jerk away and flail off the bed. When I stand, he's laughing his ass off. 

“Are you fucking suicidal?” I yell. 

“Oh, grrrr.” He raises his hands, curls them into claws, and makes a ridiculous “scary” face. 

Unable to stop myself, I mutter, “Argh.”

“Fucking real, man. That's my shit!” 

Sighing, I lower myself to the bed and admit, “Mine, too.” 

“Favorite hottie? Buffy or Faith?” 

“Spike.” 

“Figures.” He snorts. “It's like an Elton John afterparty up in here. You'll fit right in.” 

Remembering the feeding debacle, I rub a hand over my face. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, bitch, you got a big gay crush already?” 

“What? No!” 

“You do!” Suddenly serious, he glowers. “It better be Jensen. You say Jeff and I'll kick your ass myself, don't give a shit if you are a vampire.” 

“It's not a crush. Feeding was just a little intense.” Leaping to my feet, I begin to pace. “It's perfectly natural. When Elena turned, she got carried away with Damon.” 

“Whatever. Stefan's a pussy.” 

“Right?” 

He grins at me and I find myself grinning back. 

“Look, dude, don't sweat it. Shit's crazy right now, true?” He waves his hand through the air. “Just go with the flow.” 

I groan. “Should I be terrified that you're making sense?” 

“Fuck off. I'm brilliant.” He jumps off the bed and nods to the door. “Come on, let's get out of this room and out of your gigantor head.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

***

“Lick it, bitch! Lick my rock-hard, triumphant ball!” 

Chad thrusts his bowling ball at my face. Laughing, I swat him away. 

“You were dropped on your head as a child, admit it.” 

“At least once,” a voice says from behind us. 

I turn to see two strangers. The speaker has longish, dark hair, slightly pinched eyes, and a rough vibe to him. The blond man at his side seems to have serenity seeping from his pores. They look strange standing together, like an odd couple movie staring a cowboy and a surfer. Judging by how close they're standing, I'd guess “odd couple” is about right. 

“Care to make it interesting?” the dark-haired guy says. 

“Do not, ever, bet with Chris,” Chad announces quickly. 

“Still bitching, princess?” Chris asks. “Maybe he can win once and a while.” 

The blond strides forward and extends his hand. “Jared, right? I'm Steve. Great to meet you.” Leaning closer, he offers in a stage whisper, “Seriously, though, don't bet with Chris. No one wins.” 

“For Christ's sake! I've apologized a hundred times for that damn monopoly game.” 

Chad grimaces. “We still can't find the horse.” 

“Fuck the fucking horse!” 

“All right, all right, let's not talk about the monopoly game.” Steve threads his arm through Chris's and says, “There's no one you'd rather have at your back, trust me.” 

“Gag.” Chad, of course. 

“Shut it, minion!” 

I can only blink. With another of my epically awkward waves, I say, “Hey, guys.” 

Chris gives me an unimpressed look and says, “Let's fucking bowl.”

And bowl we do. They put Chris on my team, ostensibly to make things even. But really, I think, to stage some forced bonding. Only, Steve didn't realize how shit I am at bowling. As this fact becomes evident, I can only apologize profusely as my nerves crumble beneath the pressure. Midway through the game, I want to run and hide. Near the end, when Steve and Chad are “accidentally” throwing gutter balls while watching Chris out of the corners of their eyes, I want to melt into the floor. 

They slaughter us. I look to Chris and find him scowling, his arms crossed over his chest. I'm about as tall as he is now, hunching in on myself like I'm coming out to my parents for a second time. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“You let a human beat you,” he says, bemused. “At a game of coordination. You let a human beat you.” 

“I … I'm sorry, man. I suck at bowling. I just thought, you know, it'd be fun.” 

“It was fun!” Steve calls, quickly and loudly. 

Chris snorts. 

“Don't blame Jared,” Chad says. “I'm a fucking boss.” 

Chris looks me in the eyes and says, “I'm going to teach you.” 

“No!” I bark as the others echo me. “I mean, that's real nice, but—” 

“You'll be a real vampire when you can bowl.” 

Which, yeah, I'm pretty sure is not the true marker of a real vampire, but I'm not about to say that. Chris turns and strides out. Steve looks between us, says, “He likes you,” and follows Chris from the room. 

Standing in silence with Chad at my side, I can only rub a hand down my face and sink into a nearby chair. 

Chad asks, “So, want to play another?” 

“Fuck no.” 

***

I can't sleep. I go to bed when Chad does, because I've had a long, weird day, but sleep doesn't seem to be a thing any longer. At least, not yet. Somehow, I find myself back at the bowling lane. I didn't make first string linebacker without practicing, you know? And, for vampires at least, bowling is the new football. I throw ball after ball, getting worse and worse. 

“I thought Chris was exaggerating.” 

I turn to see Jensen. Torn between embarrassment, confusion, and pleasure, I settle on a smile. Am I thrilled to be a bleeder bitch ripped from my future and my family? Not so much. Could my life be a thousand times worse right now? Probably. 

“Hi.” 

He nods a greeting, then gestures to the lane. “It's all in your head, you know.” 

“No, I've pretty much always sucked.” 

“Which is why you suck now.” He shrugs and strolls closer. “You're better. You just don't know it.” 

“End result, I suck.” 

A small smile turns his lips—his sinful, wicked lips—and I look away before I can't. As he walks closer, I watch him move. He's graceful and quiet, like a cat. It's a world away from my clumsy, stomping gait. 

“Let's play,” he says. 

“What? Why?” 

“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow, the familiar gesture somehow less intimidating. “Your ego that fragile, Jared?” 

I can't help but laugh. “What ego? I went from a spazzy human to a spazzy vampire. If I didn't have a sense of humor, I'd be rocking in the corner right now.”

He only stares and I think I've over shared. I do that. Like, a lot. 

“But yeah, grab a ball.” I laugh nervously. “Make me your bitch.” 

No, really, that came out of my mouth. I blame Chad. Fucking Chad. I feel my lips part several times, like a big dumb fish gasping for a life-saving reprieve. Jensen shakes his head and I spin around and busy myself poking at my bowling ball. Nothing to see here. 

From behind me, I hear, “Throw the ball, bitch. I'll show you how it's done.” 

The hint of humor in his voice makes me laugh. Probably too hard—all nervous and manic—but I feel better when I'm done. We play for a while. I don't get good, but my attention's so focused on Jensen that my game improves almost by accident. He's quiet. Looser and warmer than I've ever seen him, but still quiet. It would be comfortable, but I can't stop thinking about earlier. About his fingers sliding into my mouth. About licking and sucking on him. 

“So, about earlier....” 

Standing with the ball raised to throw, he pauses and turns to me. I shrink back, a lot more comfortable talking to his back than his face. His eyebrow quirks in question. 

“I guess I'm embarrassed.” 

“Why?” 

I groan. Way to take an awkward conversation and make it even more awkward. Floundering to find a good answer, I make a vague, waving gesture in the air. 

“It's just … I don't know.” 

“Neither do I.” 

When the silence stretches, he turns and throws his ball. Another strike, of course. Between his vampire reflexes and, oh, I don't know, having a bowling alley in his house, he's pretty damn good. Hardly seems to notice, though, which is just, whatever. Right? Not totally charming or anything. 

“I lost control,” I blurt. 

“You didn't. You were careful with Jeff.” 

“With you.” What the hell am I doing? “I lost control with you.” 

And now I'm talking about it, like a spazz. Like a spazzy kid with his first crush. Way to be smooth, Padalecki. I quickly turn my back to him and throw my ball. Not a strike. Not even close. 

“Jared?” 

“Yeah?” 

I keep my back to him even as my ball returns and I have no fucking excuse for it. Sucking in a deep breath, I exhale it long and hard, frustrated with myself. What happened to going with the flow? 

“You and me, you don't have to be embarrassed with me. I didn't make you, but you're mine. Do you understand?” 

I huff out a breath. “No.” 

He laughs, and the sound.… I turn and he's there, holding my bowling ball between us. I reach to take it, but can't look away from his face. 

“I'm going to feed on you.” As my eyes dart to his mouth, he says, “Not now, but soon.” 

“Oh.” 

“I want, I ache to feed on you. Jared, I ache to wrap my arms around you and press my mouth to your neck. I'll lick and suck, and if you taste half as good as I imagine, I'll moan. My fingers will curl around your arms, your neck. And my body? I'll press against you, hard and insistent. That's what I want. That's what's going to happen. The sight of you, the smell of you … fuck, the taste of you. Whatever you want from me, don't be embarrassed. Because I want to eat you alive.” He looks straight into my eyes, bared and unblinking. “Do you understand now?” 

Gulping, I nod. Stunned and speechless, I can do nothing but stare. He smiles, looking more at ease and powerful than I've ever seen him. As if I've pleased him. I watch him saunter back to his seat. Watch him throw a glance over his shoulder, his eyes hooded. 

Forcing myself to turn, I blow out a long breath and throw my ball. It goes straight into the gutter. 

***

I do sleep, eventually, but not for long. I wake up hard and take myself in hand. It feels astonishingly good, and I come way too fast. At the back of my mind, I assure myself “better now than with Jensen.” Then I roll to my feet and hustle to the shower, pushing the thought away. 

Which lasts for about two seconds. Even as I don Jeff's clothes for the second day in a row, I feel off. Hot and bothered—dazed. Anxious. Thinking about Jensen—and I can't think about anything else—is a twisted mixture of pleasure and pain. I want to find him and rub against him, like an animal. That's got to be a vampire thing, right? It has to be. 

Whatever it is, I find myself wandering from my room and through the house. Not looking for Jensen, because that'd be pathetic, but if he happens to find me.... He doesn't. Forlorn, I flop onto one of the couches in the main living room.

My arms are thrown over my eyes, but I hear someone approaching—thank you very much. When the chair creaks, I open my eyes, smiling. Seeing Jeff, I almost spring to my feet like a guilty child. The phrase “icky icky poo poo” echoes in my mind. 

“Hi, Jared.” 

“Um, hi.” I glance around the room, but force myself to smile. “What's up?” 

“Not much. Everything all right?” 

“Yeah, fine.” I gulp. “Why?” 

“You look a little twitchy, buddy. Am I too much of a temptation?” 

“What? No!” I spring into a sitting position. “Why would you say that?” 

“My blood, kid. Relax.”

Who's a spazz? I'm a spazz. 

“Oh, no. I'm not hungry.” 

“Good.” He smiles warmly to take the sting from his words. “I was expecting worse, you know. Jensen was pleased.” 

I nod, but my attention jerks to the doorway when a woman walks in. She's about Jeff's age, with pretty brown hair and a no-nonsense look about her. Walking to Jeff, she grins and plants herself in his lap before handing him a plate. 

“Sam, Jared. Jared, this is my wife, Samantha.” 

As I blink, Sam licks the french fry salt from her fingers and stretches toward me, extending her hand. Expression amused and challenging, she waggles her eyebrows like a dare. I can't help but smile as I lean forward to shake her hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Jared.” Her expression goes stern. “I hear you've been sucking on my husband's neck?” 

She laughs. Jeff smiles indulgently before popping a french fry into his mouth. 

I say, “Only under strict supervision.” 

“Keep it that way,” she orders, then winks. 

“So, ah, can I ask—” I begin. 

“Why?” Jeff finishes. “Sam calls it an internship.” 

“We knew Jensen way back, when we were about your age. We wanted this then, but all the fucking caught up to us.” 

“Sam got pregnant,” Jeff explains. 

“Alona's flown the nest, now, and something went down with Jensen's last donor, so we're back. I'm supplying Steve, and Jeff's supplying you. In a year or so, if everything works out, we'll be turned.” 

“Oh. Then, yeah, okay.” I relax back into the couch. “That's great.” 

Even as Jeff's straight-and-taken status eases the tension, my mind strays to their daughter. My mood sinks. My family must think I'm dead by now. Before, in the cages, it was close enough to true that I didn't feel guilty. Now? I feel like shit. 

“What's wrong, honey?” Sam asks. 

“Do you think I could call my parents? Would Jensen let me?” 

They exchange a look. Jeff asks, “What would you say?” 

“Good question.” I hang my head. “Something? Anything? My momma's got to be going out of her head. My dad, too, and my brother and sister. They think I'm dead.” 

Sam hisses. “How did the slavers get you?”

“I was in college, at my frat house.” I roll my eyes. “I was a pledge. Doing their fucking laundry. So stupid. When the bastards turned us, I was the only bleeder. They killed everyone else and started a fire.” 

They exchange another meaningful look. Jeff asks, “Was it ruled accidental?” 

“Thing is, I was in a cage until yesterday, so....” 

“Honey, what he means is, someone started a fire, your body isn't inside, and you're gone.” Sam offers a pinched smile. “The authorities might not think you're dead. They might think you're the arsonist.” 

“What?” Which, yeah, not brilliant, but the word echoes through my mind. “No.”

“We'll figure it out,” Jeff says. 

“No. The vampires have someone on the inside. They have to. Otherwise....” 

Sam nods. “You won't be looking too good.” 

“Mutilated corpses drained of blood? They'll think I'm a fucking serial killer!”

“Mass murderer,” Jeff corrects. 

“Really, Jeff?” Sam sets aside her plate and moves to sit next to me. Hand resting on my knee, she says, “We'll figure this out. First thing in the morning, I'll go into town and see what's up.”

“They don't have a computer here?” 

“Not right now.” Jeff doesn't blink as he says, “Security risk.” 

“You mean me.” I growl. “They don't want the prisoner calling for help.”

The world goes a little wonky, my vision darkening around the edges. Without warning, my fangs surge free and my hearing narrows to the sound of Sam's rushing blood. I hang my head, trying to hide my hunger even as I brush Sam's hand off my knee. 

“Jared, honey?” Sam leans forward, trying to look into my face—baring her neck. 

I suck in a deep breath, struggling for control, but all I smell is prey. My eyes lock on her neck. An instant later, my back's against the couch, Jensen's hand pressed to my chest. Jensen. He knew. He had to. So pretty, so calm and decent. He paid the slavers for ruining my life. 

Growling, I surge forward. Slam back against the couch. I snarl, showing my fangs. His other palm makes contact with my cheek, hard. A slap, nothing more, but nothing less. If it was intended to knock some sense into me, it fails completely. I thrash and struggle, but can't gain an inch. 

“Get out of here!” Jensen orders Sam and Jeff. 

“Let me go!” 

“Calm down. Breathe through it. Come on, baby, just breathe.” 

“I'm fucking breathing!” I lunge forward, go nowhere, but snap my teeth at him. “You knew! Everyone thinks I'm a fucking murderer and you knew!' 

Even through my blind rage, I hope he'll deny it. When he looks away instead, something inside me buckles and hollows, and I punch his pretty, lying face. My hand explodes in pain but his expression doesn't change. My chest convulses and I wince and writhe.

“Calm the fuck down!” His other hand pins my right arm. “I knew, okay? I knew, but you have to breathe. You're, if I didn't know better, you're triggering a rage.”

“You ruined my life!” 

“I didn't. Jared, I didn't.” He leans closer, seeking my gaze, but I jerk my head to the side. “I can explain. Let me explain.” 

I huff and pant, jerk my head from side to side. Not as an answer, but because I feel crazed. Like some jackass on PCP or having a bad acid trip. My entire body is shaking, like I've run a marathon, or maybe like I need to. Searing pain rips through me. I writhe, whimper.

“Shit.” Suddenly, my arm is free and Jensen's wrist is thrust before my face. “Drink, Jared. You need to drink.”

Sinking my fangs into his flesh feel like the most natural thing in the world. With the first surge of blood, the blackness starts to recede. Grabbing his wrist with both hands, I hold him to me. Distantly, I hear the growl at the back of my throat. His restraining hand leaves my chest and moves to my hair, stroking and petting. When he climbs into my lap, I'm startled, but the press of his chest against mine feels so perfect my eyes roll back. I can only clutch his arm tighter and drink. 

A tremor rocks Jensen and my stomach turns. Growling, I push his wrist away and turn to capture him in a tight embrace. My hands map his spine and shoulder blades, find the back of his head and press his face to my neck. Above me, he trembles harder and I whimper. 

“Jared, I can't.” 

Grip tightening, I whimper again. 

“This is instinct. You've … this is instinct.” He reaches behind himself to pry my hand free and I'm flooded with sorrow. When he takes my hand and places it on his neck, the feeling lessens. When his hand moves from my hair to caress my face, it lessens further. “I'm with you. Yours. But we need to talk, okay?”

I find myself nodding, absurdly pleased by his words. Somewhere, distantly, just how pleased I am strikes me as off. 

“Jared, there's some limited order to our world. Steve, he's on the council. He's been fighting to outlaw the slavers for years, but it's a battle.” His fingers caress away my frown. “When they learned about you, Jared, you're dangerous. A face that's been on every news channel for a week, walking around as a vampire? That's dangerous. They wanted to kill you, but Steve knew I needed someone and he's got a big heart, so he convinced them. I took responsibility for you. So, yeah, I knew, but you're alive.”

My heart soars. “You were trying to protect me.” 

“I will protect you.” 

Releasing his neck, I embrace him properly. Running my hands up and down his back, my body hums with pleasure. 

“What happened?” I ask. “I was so angry at you, and then I just wasn't.” 

“You, I, don't worry about it.” At my frown, he elaborates, “It's instinct. If you feel too distant from me, your body will fix that.” 

“Huh. That's normal?” 

He nods slowly. “Yeah. It happens.” 

“I'm sorry I hit you.” 

“I'm a big boy.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I'm still sorry.” 

“Uh huh.” He nods real slow again. “Jared, I actually need to … can you let go of me?” 

Taken aback, I drop my hands. A sensation of mourning ripples through me as he jumps free. He kinda fidgets, does something that resembles a half-hearted curtsy, then rushes from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, feels? Suggestions? Virtual cookies you'd like to bribe me with? I'm a needy bitch. I blame Chad.


	3. Fuck you, door, you're not even a tree.

Four reasons my life sucks a great big bag of dicks: One, my momma's probably digging up the backyard, looking for the mutilated pets her psycho son must have killed. Two, I went all ratchety murdery on Jeff and Sam. Three, I have to grind on problems one and two like an OCD case to even give a shit, which is pretty fucking bizarre and worthy of concern. And four, Jensen is being mean to me, which is all I actually care about—because vampires (not me, vampires) have shit priorities. 

So, yeah, Jensen's avoiding me. I know this because his blood is like vampire crack, and I can hear everything now. And I mean, everything. Too much. Between two couples and Chad—who beats it like a thirteen year old with internet access—I do a lot of spontaneous singing. Which, my bad, Chris and Steve, because I sing just a little worse than I bowl, and if I can hear them … but they're not even a little quiet. 

Steve, right? Super chill Steve? Could make a whore blush with the filthy shit that comes out of his mouth as he's being fucked through the mattress … or in the shower … or on the pool table.... And here I am, all twisted up over Jensen like Chad is over tentacle porn, and I'm Blueballs McGee in a fucking bathhouse. 

But back on point. Jensen hears me coming and runs. Like, legit, turns and runs. The dude straight up bought me like a dog, so you wouldn't think I'd care, right? I shouldn't care. They're probably gonna make movies about the homo who slaughtered his frat brothers. They'll take a little artistic license and have me rape their corpses. My momma will watch it and cry. So, yeah, Jensen playing least in sight? Who cares, right? I do. I care so much I feel like an actual dog. I pretty much want to whine at his door until he lets me in, then I'd lie at his feet, tail thumping, while he scratches my ears. If he'd let me, which he won't. And for some bullshit reason, that's more important than anything else in my undead life. Which is just so pathetic I want to punch myself in the face, but there it is. 

Which probably explains why I'm sitting in the dark, all alone, watching Moulin Rouge for the third … fifth time. 

“Love is a many splendid thing,” I sing. “Love lifts you up where you belong. All you need is love.” 

“Please!” Chris bursts through the door. “Don't start that again!” 

I cackle. “You know the words!” 

“No shit! You're driving me out of my fucking skull.” 

Frowning, I reach for the remote and hit the pause button. “Sorry.” 

“Come on!” 

I flinch. “No more bowling. Please, Chris, no more bowling.”

“First, suck it up about the bowling. Second, that's not where we're going. Come on.” 

I lag after him—have I mentioned I'm a dog?—mostly because Chris scares me. Steve goes to work, apparently, which sucks pretty hard. 'Cause, the thing is, without Steve around, Chris is a crazy fucker. This became clear yesterday, while I dodged pool balls being whipped at my head to the helpful advice of, “You're a vampire, asshole! Dodge like a vampire!”

I clearly do not dodge like a vampire. I know this because I was a lumpy, swollen, black and blue mess for one long hour before healing. I think he broke my hand. I'm not holding any grudges, I just want it on record. 

Jensen never showed his cowardly face. I am a little sore about that. 

Chris walks to the front door, opens the front door, and then walks through the front door. I hate to beat this dog analogy to death, but I stop at the door frame, half expecting an invisible fence to shock the shit out of me if I take another step.

Looking out, though—neat. Even in the dark, I can see amazing details. Everything is in shades of gray, which is a little weird, but the textures and shadows create a visual feast. There are flashes of movement everywhere, and the sounds … I'm dead, but the world has never seemed more alive.

“What are you waiting for?” Chris demands. “We need an invitation to get in, not out.” 

I hear Chad approaching, and he asks, “What's the deal?”

Chad only made it through one screening of Moulin Rouge—because he's not a real man. I spare him a glance and a shrug. “Not sure.” 

When he follows me outside, Chris snaps, “We don't need an audience, bitch boy.” 

“You got one.” 

Chris's eyes narrow. “Your funeral.” 

And from Chris, I'm not sure how literally to take those words. Honestly, he looks a little more pinched than usual. “Ah, Chad, maybe—” 

“Dude, don't worry about it. He knows Jensen will be pissed if he kills me.” Chad snorts. “Got his panties in a bunch, is all.” 

A flash and Chris is in his face. I blink. How the fuck did he do that? Why can't I do that? Vampire sight and all, I kinda saw him move, but not really. Chad, though, does not have vampire sight. He staggers back, eyes comically wide before straightening with his usual bravado. 

“I just broke Jen's nose. He's being a dickhead.” Flashing his fangs, Chris adds, “Never considered breaking his toys.” 

“Oh, come on, man. I'm bored!” Chad whines and fidgets like a five year old. “Let me stay. Pleeeease? I'll make you moonshine. That apple pie, shit? You liked that, remember?”

Chad makes begging eyes while Chris squints. I'm still stuck on Jensen's broken nose. Coward deserves it … I hope it heals okay. 

“A double batch, and you keep your damn mouth shut.” 

“Quiet as a pedophile at a PTA meeting.” 

I frown, giving his words more thought than they deserve, and Chris growls and grabs my arm. After being hauled several feet away, my arm's freed. I don't rub it. Because I'm a vampire now, and I can't even bowl. 

Squaring his shoulders, Chris announces, “Combat training.” 

Yes! I imagine Jedi training. Musical montages with handstands and throwing knifes. I am Rocky. I have the eye of the tiger. 

I'm on my ass in the grass. 

“Get up.” 

As I push to my feet, I grumble, “I didn't know we started.” 

“There is no starting, son. Life's not a duel. Someday, you'll think, 'what's that noise?' and there'll be a stake in your heart.” He shoves me again. I fall. “You get me?” 

And suddenly, I miss bowling. 

“Yeah. I get you.” 

Standing again, I just look at him and wait. He squints. If he's waiting for attitude, he's never met himself. Finally—and I swear I didn't hit my head that hard—he smiles. 

“First lesson is running.” 

Nice! I saw that on Vampire Diaries—ended in vampire kissy face. My thoughts stray to Jensen. He should be teaching me this. But he isn't, so whatever. 

“Run to that tree and back.” 

I do, and I'm fast, but human fast. Also, I keep doing this skipping, hopping thing, trying to trigger vamp speed. If Chad's snickers are any indication, I just look like a headcase trying to fly. When I get back, I look at my feet instead of Chris's face. 

After a long pause, Chris mutters, “We'll come back to running.” 

Chad cackles. “From 101 to remedial. Slam!” 

Chris says nothing. This is super fun. 

“Let's start with jumping.” 

I try. Honest to god, I try. But I keep sucking and Chris keeps scowling and Chad keeps laughing. And that sense of humor I talked about? Gone. A smoldering heap of ash beneath Chris's shoe. My chest starts to ache, like I might actually cry. Because I'm about to unleash all my spazz glory and run flailing from the yard like a little girl. And yeah, so sexist. Blow me.

“Okay,” Chris says, voice calm. “I'm gonna kick your ass.”

“What?” 

“Nothing personal, son. Needs to be done.” 

“What?” 

Then he charges me. I squeak. That's my big defensive maneuver. A squeak. And as I'm still thinking about the lameness of that squeak, Chris punches me in the stomach. That's a whole different noise. Like a goat getting its balls cut off. Bent at the waist, I see his knee coming at my face. The texture of his blue jeans is fascinating. 

Laid out on my back, I spot a duck in the clouds. And, look, a smilie face. Then he's kicking me in the side and I'm flying. As the grass rushes toward my face, I see a beetle. I hit so hard I bounce. Poor beetle.

I roll to my back, thinking about the astonishing number of insects. All these years, I've been stomping around like a giant on a busy street, leaving bodies in my wake. I had no idea. 

Chris's hands are at my collar, hauling me to my feet. Fangs flashing, he orders, “Get out of your fucking head!” 

I open my mouth, but he head butts me and I end up on the ground, blinking up at him. 

He snarls. “Are you shitting me? Fine!” 

He's at Chad's side in a flash. One hand fists Chad's shirt and the other grips his belt. With a grunt and heave, Chad soars high into the air, his body barreling toward the treeline. Chad's screaming like someone falling to their death. Chris crosses his arms over his chest. 

I'm running in the next instant. My brain's so busy tracking his path, deciding where I need to be, I don't notice getting there. I'm just there. In time to realize he'll be tree paste before he hits the ground. Snarling, feeling my fangs surge free, I coil and leap. My arm hooks around his stomach, his screaming a disorienting siren in my ears, and we start to fall. Getting a better grip on him, I grimace, bracing myself for impact. But then I'm standing, still grimacing, with a shrieking Chad clawing his way out of my arms. 

Blinking, I turn to see Chris standing before us. 

Chad's pacing in circles, screaming, “Fuck you! Fuck you! You fucking cunt!” 

Chris laughs and I turn on him, snarling. He only laughs harder. 

“Now jump, Jared. Or we'll be playing catch with Chad all night.” 

More stunned than anything, I crouch. I jump. 

***

Three hours later, Chris and I are sitting in the grass, a six pack sitting between us. And, yeah, he's a dick, but it's not exactly a secret, you know? The point is, I can jump and run like a vampire. And I made this huge tree—okay, it wasn't a redwood or anything—my bitch. It was all, “Ha! I'm a tree!” And I was all, bam, ka-pow, take that, tree! 

I'm still a little overexcited, okay? 

Chad stormed off a while ago with a shouted, “You better apologize if you, ever, want to taste my apple pie moonshine again!” Hopefully that'll work itself out. 

As I crack open a beer, my mind wanders. Bracing myself, I ask, “So, is there something wrong me, or something?” 

“Fuck, man, I don't emo. Steve will be home soon. He's all over the caring and sharing shit.” 

I laugh. “No, come on. You tell it like it is, right? Am I crazy? 'Cause I feel like I'm going crazy. And Jensen's totally repulsed by me.” 

He grunts. “You're not crazy.” 

“No, I am. I'm wanted for mass murder. I've, like, brought shame on my family. I drink blood. But all I can think about is some guy I just met. That's nuts.” 

“Look, Jared, it's not my place, okay? Jensen needs to explain this.” Chris rolls his eyes. “He's fucking this up. I tried talking to him.” 

“But punched him, instead?” 

He laughs. “Yeah.” 

“You know what's crazy? As pissed as I am, when I heard that, I was still worried about him.” 

“You want some advice, kid?” 

“Since when do you ask?” 

“Don't let him pull this shit. Make him talk.” 

“He runs from me! How am I supposed to make him do anything?” 

“Remember why you're here?” Chris asks. “To feed Jensen. Now, he hasn't been feeding on you. He sure as shit hasn't been feeding on Steve. He's starving. Use that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Look, I know you got the feeder superiority speech, right? But really, and I'll never say this again, it's bullshit. Think about it. Bleeders feed from humans. They go out and hunt. They make themselves strong and bring nourishment home to their partners. You might want us, but we need you. That's powerful.” He downs the rest of his beer. “So grow a pair and handle your shit.” 

“So … I'm not a bitch vampire?” 

He laughs. “You're definitely a bitch vampire.” Handing me another beer, he adds, “But you'll learn.” 

***

I'm not a bitch vampire. I'm not a bitch vampire. I'm not a bitch vampire. 

Fuck you, door, you're not even a tree. I open it—because I'm a boss like that. Open Jensen's door and stride right in. Obviously he heard me, but he's still sitting in the middle of his bed. When his eyes rise to meet mine, the panic there makes me sad.

“You're an asshole.” 

“Jared—”

“No! Let me finish. You're being mean to me, like an asshole, and it's super shitty.” 

He raises an eyebrow, waits. “Was that it?” 

“For now. You talk.” 

“I know, okay? I'm sorry. It's just....” 

“What? Jensen, what? I didn't mean to pop fangs over Sam, okay? You think I feel good about that? I don't. I don't want to hurt anyone.” I thrust my chin in the air. “Don't be mad at me.” 

He laughs, but it isn't a nice sound. “That's not it.” 

“Then what? Feeding off you? You're throwing me some serious mixed messages, here. You're all, whatever you want, I want more. But I drink from you and I've bruised your vampire ego or something. I don't get it!” 

“No, you really don't.” He stands and the fear melts from his face, replaced by the strength I expect from him. “You don't know what you're talking about.” 

“News flash, no shit! I don't know anything! You're supposed to be my vampire Yoda, and you haven't told me shit. Chris taught me how to run today, and don't pretend like you didn't hear us. It should have been you, Jensen. You're fucking this up!” 

“I know!” 

Instinct urges me forward, but I stay where I am—blocking the door. If he wants to escape, it'll be through a wall or a window. 'Cause, yeah, it's like that. 

“Talk to me.” I hear the gravel in my voice and square my shoulders. “Please, Jensen. I want you … to talk to me. And you want me. You can't keep starving yourself, and I don't want you to. But I need to know the truth.” 

He groans and looks toward the ceiling. “Look, when you've been alive as long as I have, change doesn't come easy.” 

“How long?” 

“What?” 

“How old are you?” 

He frowns. “About two hundred, but Jared—”

“No, shit? Were you in the Civil War? Did you ride in carriages and stuff like that?” 

“I was a frontiersman.” 

“Wait. Like fur caps and hunting bear?”

He snorts. “Like the open range and hiding from natives.” 

“You were a cowboy? Oh, that's so cool!” My mind summons images of saloons and gun fights. “Are you a quick draw?” 

“I am now.” 

“Neat.” 

I end up staring at him, awed and charmed despite myself. He rubs a hand over his face, groaning. Shaking myself, I realize this is pretty much the problem. We're in the middle of an argument and I've stopped to gape at him in wonder. What, exactly, is up with that? 

“Why am I so obsessed with you?” 

“Jared—” He shakes his head. 

“Come on, Jensen. You're gorgeous, we both know it, but I'm not fucking simple. What's happening to me? I have a right to know.” 

He shakes his head again. Arching a challenging brow—yeah, I have them, too—I lean against the door and cross my arms. I hope my expression conveys my willingness to make camp, because I'm not going anywhere. 

“Damn it, fine!” He starts to pace. “So, the things is … the thing is I haven't fed in two weeks, so I'm a starving, jittery mess. I would be handling this a lot better under different circumstances, okay? Because this, this isn't me. I want to kick this,” he gestures up and down the length of his body, “in the balls.”

I nod, ironically pleased by his nerves. “Noted.” 

“Jared, we're bonded.” 

“Okay....” 

“Actually, you're bonded. I'm starving myself like a coward. Because once I taste your blood, it's all over for me.” 

“Really? Bonded?” I ask. “That's a thing?” 

“I'm not making it up!” He stops pacing and stares at me. “Chris and Steve are bonded. It happens. Never to me, obvious. It's a lifetime deal. And I just, some vampires spend their lives dreaming about it, you know? I'm not one of them.” 

Sorrow blooms in my chest, but I nod. “What's it mean, exactly?” 

“Let's see, fixation, jealousy, devotion, insatiable lust. Rages, then meltdowns from fighting. Caring more about your partner's safety than your own.” He snorts. “Because it's the same thing, Jared. Bonded pairs can't live without each other. Literally.” 

“So, if you die?” 

“You're fucked.” 

“Well, shit.” I force a smile. “Guess it's a good thing you're such a badass.” 

“Sure, but if you die, I'm fucked.” 

The sorrow turns sharp, and I lean harder against the door. “Ah. Sucks for you. Getting stuck with a spazz like me.” 

“Jared—”

“No, Jensen. I get it. I get it, now. You don't want to be bonded to someone like me. I totally get it.” 

“Stop. This isn't about you.” 

“Then who's it about?” I yell. “It's about you, and it's about me, and I'm already gone on you. So, yeah, it's about me.” 

With a whimper, I clutch at my chest. It hurts. So bad I wish I was outside again, getting the shit kicked out of me by Chris. Turning, I grasp for the doorknob, desperate for escape. But Jensen's there, his arms caging me in, his body hovering behind me. 

“Let me go,” I whisper. 

“It's not an accident, Jared. Not a mistake.” His forehead presses against my shoulder and my head tips back without my permission. “You're perfect, I know you are. That's not what I'm afraid of.” 

“Then, what?” 

“I don't know how to be. To just be. What I am, I wasn't always the person I want to be. I've built this person. Held him together with routine and force of will. Doing this, letting you in, it's a force of nature. An earthquake. Look what happened to you. Jared, you were already bonded when you came at me. Probably came at me because of it. What happens when I lose control?” 

Despite the “no, no, no” coming from his mouth, his body's moved closer and closer. I feel the press of him against my back. Feel his breath on my neck. 

“Jensen, I took a swing at you and it put me on my ass.” 

“Exactly. You were instinct and passion, and it was a revelation, but I don't do passion. I do order and control. It works for me, has for a long time. But ever since I met you, ever since you got in that car and I expected terror and hate, you've been surprising me. You've been changing me. And maybe it's what I need, but I....” His body trembles and he pushes closer. “I want it, but I don't know what it is. I don't know how to be if I'm something else, and what I am isn't that bad. Can you understand that?” 

Strangely, I find myself nodding. “It's like coming out. Everyone says it's what you should want, but for the longest time, I didn't want to tell my parents. Not because I thought they'd kick me out or spit in my face. Because starting something new meant ending what I had. The world I'd built for myself would die, and I couldn't imagine what would replace it. I didn't want things to change.”

“Yeah....” 

I turn, put my back against the door, and he's there. He doesn't draw back, let's me reach for him. My hand slides along the crook of his neck and he shudders, his eyes sliding closed. 

“I'm not letting you run from this. I don't think you could, not even if you wanted to.” My thumb glides across his jaw. “Because you know, deep down, that our life is going to be a hundred times better. I'm already living it. Don't leave me here all alone.” 

Never breaking eye contact, I push my hand a little higher and my wrist is at his mouth. I say, “Please.” 

I see it. When he decides, I see the relief on his face. His lips part, slowly—tortuously slow. My chest heaves and I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel the scrap of his teeth. Gasp as his hand grips my forearm, holding me close. Then his fangs slide beneath my skin and the pain is swallowed by euphoria. The bond sings, screams its satisfaction, and I hear a whimper. Only realize it's mine after the fact. 

Jensen surges against me, his moan ending on a growl. With my arm pressed between our bodies, he feeds. Besides knowing the bond is formed, besides the feel of his hard body writhing against mine, I'm floored by the bone-deep satisfaction of nourishing him. Mine. Mine. 

Threading my hands through his hair, I hold him in place—where he belongs.


	4. I had unlimited data and internet porn. Trust me, I'm a pervert.

Jensen's licked my wrist clean and is snuggling into my chest when I lower my chin, hoping—yearning—for a kiss. I hear the purr as he leans in, feel the vibration against my chest, and then our lips are meeting. A quick brush and he's pulling away, returning only after I whine for him. His lips press and slide, tease, like a man who's spent lifetimes perfecting the skill. When I fist the fabric of his shirt and hold him tight, he nibbles on my bottom lip. Pulling it into his mouth, he sucks. I groan, amazed to feel my desire—already frenzied and desperate—heighten. 

His tongue lines my lips, caresses its way insides. A single flick and it's gone again. I moan. Trying to deepen the kiss myself, I receive a sharp nip to the tip of my tongue. Bordering between pain and surprised pleasure, the sensation confuses me even as my body throbs. Then his mouth is pressing against mine insistently, his tongue thrusting inside. I can only lean back against the door as my knees go weak. The kiss goes on forever, feels better than any sex I've ever had, and I'm on the brink of embarrassing myself when I reach for his cock. My hand brushes his belt. He pulls away. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What? I … what?” 

“Not until I say, Jared.” 

He pecks me on the lips again and draws away. I'm panting and gaping—he's smirking. 

“You're joking?” 

“Why would I joke about this?” 

“I don't know.” I run a hand through my hair, unable to stave off the grumpy frown pulling at my lips. “I, Jensen, I don't know what's happening.” 

“I know your generation is accustomed to rushing sex, but I don't.” 

Taken aback, I ask, “Are you calling me a slut?” 

He laughs. “No. I'm saying you have a lot to learn. And I need a shower.” As he walks away, he throws over his shoulder, “I'll be thinking about you.” 

***

Two fucking days later, I still don't know what's happening. Straight up, I am puzzled. I mean, we blood bonded, right? My life is in his hands. Unfortunately, it's the only thing of mine in his hands, if you know what I mean. I mean he won't touch my dick—in case you're as confused as I am. And the thing is, it's not like he's not horny. I know that's not the problem. Largely because I'm lying in my bed, alone, listening to him writhe and moan a floor above me. My stomach's a squirming mess of nerves and want, but I'm too depressed to reach for my dick again. And, yeah, again. I've been jerking it like a monkey on viagra. But at least I do it quietly! 

I hear Chad approach my door and roll my eyes when he doesn't knock. Fucker's gonna get an eyeful, one day. 

“J-Bird!” He lands on the bed with a bounce and slaps my stomach in greeting. “How are the fangs hanging, bro?” 

Listening to Jensen keen and whimper, I blink, then focus on Chad. How am I doing? Going bat-shit crazy, you? Clearing my throat, I mutter, “All right.” 

“I fucking bet. You conserving your energy for later?” He waggles his eyebrows. Douche. “Jensen sucking the energy out of your newb ass? Let's not front, you're taking that cock, am I right?” 

If only. “Something like that.” 

“Details, man. Skip the ball-rubbing, homo shit. Just tell me it's worth playing bitch boy for two years. It is, right? I know it is.” 

Right on cue, Jensen moans. I'd slaughter a chicken to play bitch boy with Jensen. A goat, maybe. Chad, if he keeps asking bullshit questions. After the pause gets pathetic in its own right, I mutter, “I wouldn't know.” 

“Yeah, right. Don't be a stingy bitch.” 

“Chad, drop it, okay?” 

“Wait. No shit?” He looks horrified. Right? “What the fuck's he waiting for? It's been days.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“He's been eye fucking you all over the house.” 

“I know.” 

“He's been, like, petting you and shit.” 

“I know, Chad.” 

“And licking his lips and whispering in your ear.” 

“Chad, I know! What the fuck do you want me to say? Vampire masturbation is super intense, okay? Now drop it!”

And, yeah, he's not wrong. Jensen has been torturing me. On accident? For kicks? To see if I'll drop to my knees and whine and beg to suck his cock like a whore? I would, if that's not totally obvious. I'd say pretty please with a cherry on top and suck his cock until his come hits the back of my throat. Fuck me, I'm horny. Chad starts talking again. I don't groan, because my momma taught me right … despite rumors of my stabbity, stabbity frat-boy slaughtering nature. 

“Dude, I did my research. Vampires put out like brown-haired sorority chicks in an A cup. And bonded pairs? They drink extra blood to maintain the constant stream of jizz leaking from their cocks. Or, you know, woman juice sliding down their thighs.” 

I grimace. “You're all class.” 

“No, dude, this is serious.” He wrings his hands, looking devastated. “You think he's got a limp dick? I'm not spending an eternity with a limp dick!” 

“What the fuck, dude?” I whisper. “He doesn't have a limp dick. But, if you don't shut up, you're gonna spend eternity being thrown around like a football. You get vampire hearing, right?” 

He waves me away. “You're a newb. Jensen tuned out me out, like, week one. Doesn't hear me when I'm standing in front of him, half the time.” 

“Sounds handy.” 

“Hardy har, dickwipe. Here I am, looking out for my boy, and I'm getting shade. Where's the love?” He cackles. “Your thoughts exactly, am I right?” 

Guess what's crazy depressing? Chad actually is my boy. My best friend in a house I might be trapped in for the next decade. Just me, my blue balls, and Chad's voice. 

Jensen grunts, comes—calls my name as he does. Because that's fair. Because that's not going to make me rip my god damn hair out. Fuck. 

“We're taking things slow,” I say, as much to myself as Chad. “It's not a big deal.” 

“It's not normal, is what it's not. Talk to Steve. He's a bleeder. He'll know what's up.” 

Or, you know, not. I could pretend to be a grown up instead of an overgrown high-school spazz. I mean, I'd have to pretend, because I am that. But, like I said, I roleplayed a vampire once, and he wasn't a spazz. So, you know, I've got this. (I'm lying, to myself, I'm lying.) 

“How about, I do me, and you do tentacle porn?” 

I grin, expecting embarrassment or huffing indignation. But, yeah, it's Chad. So what I get is, “Dude, I saw this one, it was a centaur, right, but with a tentacle cock and tongue. And it's like mounting this chick from behind, centaur style. You get it, instead of doggie—” 

One handy thing about being a vampire? I can run like the wind. So I do. 

***

Jensen's shirtless. Again. Before the bonding? Clothed. After the bonding, walking around shirtless, flaunting what he's got. And what he's got—you see, you'd think I was about to say “is a lot” because it rhymes, but really, I'm about to say—is making my dick hard. What can I say, I'm not a poet. (And I do know it.) 

I'm going crazy, okay? Lust has driven me crazy. 

But back on point. We're playing a game of pool. He's shirtless and stroking his hand up and down the pool stick. Up. And down. Sliding. Caressing. Grabs the pool chalk and turns it over the tip, slowly. Once, twice, a third time. Brings it to his mouth and blows. 

Raising his gaze to meet mine, he says, “It's your turn.” 

“Right. Duh!” I drop the pool stick but catch it before it hits the ground. “I'm just, yeah.” 

Awkward laughing. Because I rock. 

I do get a ball in, because pool isn't bowling. All the vamps still school me, but I can beat Chad. And my life is pathetic enough that I'm proud of that. 

When I miss my second shot, Jensen walks behind me and lays his hand on my shoulder. “Nice try.” 

His hand moves, slides, down my back, teases the small of my back and drops away. And, really, what the fuck is happening? Put me down for puzzled, because I don't get it. 

Shooting one ball after another, he sinks them all and turns to grin at me. “Look, I made you my bitch again.” 

“Yeah....” 

***

So, here I am, knocking on Chris and Steve's door, head hanging in shame. Chris is in the shower, so it's now or never. Because I like Chris, surprisingly, but this is not a Chris conversation. 

“Hey, Jared,” Steve greets me with a warm smile. “Come on in.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Inside, I look around, pleasantly surprised. The rest of the house is expensively decorated, but barren of any real personality. Here, the walls are plastered with colorful art. Sculptures and fabrics are everywhere. It's like an extension of Steve's personality, and I can't help but feel at ease. 

Only, not. I walk to the tv set, gesture to it, and ask, “May I?” 

He nods. “This is serious.” 

“Nah.” 

I might die of sexual frustration. No big deal. 

“So, what's up?” 

I glance toward the adjoining bathroom, conscious of my time limit. “So, okay, this is embarrassing, and you can tell me to fuck off, but how long were you and Chris bonded before you, um, consummated … things.” 

“About three minutes. Why?” 

“No reason.” I bury my head in my hands. This is going so well. “Just curious.” 

“I don't know why you're not fucking, Jared. It's odd.” 

“Right? It is. It's not okay.” I groan. “I'm not a slut, I swear. I'm really not. I've only been with three guys, and two of them were long term. And the other time, I drank too much, and I really missed Alex, and I'm not proud of it, okay? But for a guy my age—”

“Jared.” He shakes his head. “You're fine.” 

“I just don't get it. Is he a monk or something?” 

“Not really. He has sex at least once a year.” 

Are you shitting me? Once a year? I will implode. Explode. My balls will shrivel up like raisins. Have I mentioned that I'm not a slut? But it's not like I have a lot to do here. And the bond. And … I want him so bad.

Heart sinking, I speak the dreadful words aloud. “I'm only getting laid once a year.” 

Steve laughs. “Jensen's been doing his healthy-living routine a while. Before, though, from what Chris says, he and Jensen got around.” 

“But he's basically been celibate for what? How long?” 

“Fifty years, I think.” 

I groan. “Fuck me.” 

“The bond will take care of this, Jared. Relax.” 

“How do you know? It was three minutes for you. I'm three days and counting, man.” 

The water cuts off. Even as I'm grimacing, Chris strides through the door with a towel around his waist. I surge to my feet, eyes slamming shut. 

“Sorry! I'll get out of your space.” 

“Don't sweat it. I heard voices. What's up?” 

I dare to open one eye. Chris strides to a dresser and start pulling out clean clothes. The towel starts to drop and I jerk my gaze away. Vampire speed. Chris laughs.

“Jensen won't put out,” Steve says. 

So, I want to die. Confiding to Steve is one thing. If bowling and combat training are anything to go by, Chris's suggestion will involve Spanish Fly and a sledge hammer. 

“Huh.” 

Clothes rustle, and isn't that just fucking great. Jensen, I can't get naked for anything. Chris is all free balling nonchalance. 

“Relax, spazz, I'm decent.” He plops onto the couch beside Steve. “What'd he say, exactly?” 

“Exactly? Ah, 'Not until I say.' And something about not rushing, and me having a lot to learn.” 

“Hot damn!” Chris grins. “He's playing the game.” 

“No,” Steve says, “he's not.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

“He wouldn't play the game with his bonded.”

He surges to his feet. “Wanna fucking bet?” 

“I'd love to bet,” I snap. “But I kinda don't know what the shit you're talking about.” 

“Jensen's back.” Chris beams, looking ridiculously happy. “My boy's back. Oh! Maybe he'll hunt with me!”

And then, he runs from the room. I'm still gaping when a flash of movement leaves him standing before me. Punching me in the shoulder, he announces, “you're awesome!” and disappears again. 

“Ah, should I be worried about that?” 

Steve says, “Too early to tell, I think.” 

“So … what's the game?” 

“Okay, first, let's look at the positives. Jensen stopped killing people over a hundred years ago.” 

At his pause, I say, “Well, that's good.” 

“But he's still a predator.”

“Right.” 

“And predators like to hunt.” 

“Also true.” I snort. “Is the game about killing puppies or something?” 

“No, no. It's just, it was a different time. Most gay men never came out of the closet, even to themselves.” He grimaces. “Jensen and Chris played a game.” 

“What? Out the gay boy?” 

“More like, seduce the straight boy.” 

I let that sink in. Not exactly scribbling names of victims on a wall, but not great either. “But I'm not straight.” 

“Everyone was straight, remember. It wasn't about turning straight guys, it was about seduction. Or, perversion. The systematic perversion of another person.” 

“I had unlimited data and internet porn. Trust me, I'm a pervert.” 

“And Jensen's always been a control freak. Only, before, he obsessed over controlling himself. Now, he's fixated on you. He's … just roll with it, Jared.” 

“You're saying, he's fucking with me on purpose.” 

“I'm saying, you're in the hands of a master.” He smirks. “Trust me. Roll with it.” 

***

It's time for another feeding. Chris and Steve are out, and part of me is thankful for Jeff's presence to diffuse the never-ending sexual tension. Part of me wishes I could stay in my room. I'm hungry, I am, but I'm dragging my heels. I jacked off half an hour ago, but vampire stamina is ridiculous, and I'm kinda afraid I'm gonna come in my pants. No. Actually, I'm really, really afraid I'm going to come in my pants. It was a near thing last time, and I hadn't been teased and tormented half-passed sanity then. 

Jensen knows, of course. He knows that I know. You'd think that'd be the end of the game, but not so much. He's only escalated. And I'm about done. Nothing left of Jared but frayed nerves and hunger. 

After he bids me enter, I walk into his room. Seeing Jeff there curdles my stomach. I know Jensen can't feed from him. Know he's straight and married. I still feel the ache of my fangs, and not because I'm hungry. But shit, Jeff. I hang my head. I forgot all about bag-of-dicks number two—you know, my hatchety murdery encounter with Jeff and Sam, in case you can't keep up. 

“Hey, Jared,” he greets, just as casual and warm as the first time we met. 

I dare lift my head. “Hey.” But, of course, I can't let things sit, so I say, “Listen, Jeff, about before, I'm so sorry, man. I would never hurt—”

“You didn't.” Jeff shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “You didn't hurt anyone. You're doing great, kid.” 

“You are,” Jensen says. “I'm proud of you.” 

And fuck me if those words don't sizzle through my body like an electric surge. His dog, again, I can almost feel my tail wagging. 

“Come closer,” Jensen beckons. 

Edging closer, I watch his gaze slide from my face and travel down my body. Feel him touching me, even though he's not. When his gaze returns to mine, he lifts that damn eyebrow. 

“Jeff, give him your wrist.” 

Then he slides behind me, out of sight, but so close I can feel the energy of his body mingling with mine. His breath fans against my throat. Despite the thrum of Jeff's blood against my fingers, my head falls back, baring my own neck. His fingers are at my chin, turning my head so our gazes meet. 

“Let's see the fangs.” 

I focus, but they don't come when I call. Christ, I'm twisted in knots. I'm supposed to be feeding. I know that, but my body doesn't. I'm pliant and boneless, my knees weak. Like I should be on them, before Jensen. Offering my neck or sucking his cock—whatever he hungers for. 

“How about this?” 

Lifting his hand, he sinks his fangs deep into his wrist. The sight, the smell of his blood on the air, has my fangs springing free in an instant. Licking my lips, I reach for him. He tsks and drags his tongue through the blood in one long, profane motion. And again. 

As the wounds close, I fidget and whimper. Mine. 

Then his hand's at my nape, forcing my head to turn. Forcing me toward Jeff's wrist. Gripping his arm, I pierce his skin even as I feel Jensen's hand at my hip. Jeff's before me, so I clench my eyes shut, blocking him out. Trying to pretend it's Jensen's wrist beneath my lips. The rush of blood is earthy and delicious, but not what I want. Not at all. 

Jensen's hand tightens at my nape. My knees tremble and he's against me, pressing into my back. Holding me up and destroying my strength all in an instant. 

“Focus,” he scolds. 

And fuck him, okay? Fuck him up and down and sideways. Because if he wants me to focus on Jeff, what's his hand doing sliding around my hip? Why are his fingers splayed inches from my cock? Why can I smell the sweet tang of his blood in the air? 

His fingers tighten around my neck, urging me back. I lap at the flowing blood, then prick my finger and rub the blood into Jeff's wounds. As they heal, I make one final sweep, then rock back to rest against the wall of Jensen's chest. 

My body shudders and I whine deep in my throat. I didn't come—such a small triumph—but that's because orgasm signals satisfaction, completion. I've drank my fill, but somehow feel more raw and starving than when we began. My cock's throbbing, aching, and Jensen's hand edges just the slightest bit closer before falling away. 

“So good, baby.” Jensen speaks right against my ear. “You can go.” 

Blinking at the mix of reward and dismissal, I can only hang my head and trudge from the room. Right to my room. I'm still in a haze of thoughtless desire when I strip my shirt. Button popped. Zipper lowered, and I push my jeans and boxers from my body. Then I'm on the bed—naked, dazed, and hard. 

Closing my eyes, I pretend it's Jensen's hand sliding down my chest. Jensen's fingers swirling through my happy trail. Lower. Over the dip of my hip bones. Gripping my cock and stroking up, hard and insistent. I keen, crane my neck, and try to imagine Jensen above me. 

“Hard for me, sweetheart?” Jensen asks. 

And I'm not imagining that. Or, if I am, I've fucking lost it, because it sounds real. 

“I asked you a question, Jared.” Voice softening, he repeats, “Are you hard for me?” 

“I … god, yes. You're killing me, Jensen. Please.” 

From a floor above me, he asks, “Please, what? What do you want, Jared? Can you say it?” 

“You.” My hand tightens and I groan. “Just you. Please.” 

“I'm here. You have me.” 

“No, Jensen.” I whine. “You know what I mean.” 

Voice lowering to a growl, he demands, “Will you take what you're given? Or do you want nothing at all?” 

“No, please. Jensen—”

“I'm hard for you.” He groans. “Want to stay hard. Want to ache while I listen to you shake and moan. Can you do that for me, Jared? Can you do exactly as you're told?” 

“Yes!” 

“Are you touching yourself?” 

I become aware of the hard grip I have on my cock and whisper, “Yes.” 

“Stop.” I drop my hand immediately and roll my head, my eyes heavy and body thrumming with want. “Drag your fingertips over your lips. Don't lick. Don't suck. Just touch. Fingertips to lips.” 

I obey him. Feel nerve endings flare to life. I yearn to spread my lips, to seek out the sensations I've been denied. I don't. Wouldn't. But the wanting makes me burn.

“Can you feel it, Jared?”

I part my lips, feel the hot puff of air against my fingers as I speak. “I feel it.” 

“What? What do you feel?” 

“It tingles. Tickles.” 

“Draw your fingers away. Do you feel it still? Feel me there? Touching you?” 

Gasping, I whisper, “I do.” 

“Good, Jared. You're so good for me, baby. Make me ache for you.” 

“Jensen—”

“Fingers back on your lips, Jared. Are they there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Drag them lower, over your chin and down your neck.” He groans and the sound makes my body throb. “That neck. That's where I want my hand, baby. That's where I want my mouth when I come. You hear me come, don't you? Hear your name on my lips? When I come, it's thinking about my fangs in your neck. Feel it, Jared. Run your hand over the place I want my mouth.” 

I whimper and drag my nails down my neck, imagining the bite of his teeth. Back and forth I rub, aching for him. 

“Would you let me? Would you bare your neck?” I hear the hiss of his breath. “Would you beg for me, baby? If you knew it made me happy, would you beg?” 

“Please.” 

“So good. Slide your hand down your chest. Do you want to touch your nipples? Are they sensitive, Jared? Do you want my mouth there?” 

“I, yes. Please.” 

“Don't touch.” He chuckles, the sound filthy. “Don't touch, but feel. Can you feel them? If you really focus, Jared? Can you make them ache for me?” 

“Jesus, Jensen. I can't....” 

“Can't feel?” 

“Can't do this.” I pant. “Please, I feel like … I can't do this.” 

“Yes. You can. Do you want to know why? Jared, do you?” 

“Jensen, please.” 

“Because I'm telling you to. Because I would never give you an order you couldn't follow.” Voice hard, he says, “Know that to be true, Jared. Feel it. Worship it. Worship it like I'll worship you. Like I'll worship your blood and your soul and your cock. You are mine and I've got you, always.”

I toss my head, feeling dazed and boneless. Feeling like I could melt into the sheet and never be a person again if he bid it. 

“Tell me what to do.” 

“Slide your hand from your chest to your cock, but don't touch. Not yet. Jared, promise me.” 

“Anything. Jensen, anything. I promise.” 

“Do it, Jared. Slowly. Do it now.” 

The drag of my hand is torture. Leaving my nipples untouched, I feel them ache. Down my stomach, muscles jumping beneath my hand, and to the soft skin beneath my cock. My fingers tremble. My breath staggers out on a broken moan. 

“Do you want to touch?” 

“Yes. Please, I do.” 

“Say 'please' again.” 

“Please, Jensen. Please. Please. Let me.” 

“Run a single finger, your index finger, Jared, run it from the base to the tip. Finger the slit for me, baby. Are you leaking? Are you wet for me?” 

Toes curling, I obey him. My finger slips and slides through the pre-come and I moan. “Yes,” I hiss. “Yes, I am.” 

“Now lift your hand, Jared. Lift it because I said so. Can you do it?” 

My body flexes against the bedspread as I forfeit what little contact he's allowed me. I whimper, but whisper, “Yes.” 

“Part your lips. Now, Jared. Bring your finger to your mouth and push it inside. Now. Taste yourself, like I want to. Like I ache to. Close your lips around your finger and suck. Are you sucking, baby? Moan for me.” 

I suck, the sensation somehow more than it's ever been. The draw of my mouth meaning more than it ever has before. I suck and it's blood. It's life. It's Jensen's cock and it's his neck beneath my mouth. The suction around my finger races straight to my cock and I moan. Moan again and tremble when he echoes me. 

“Put another finger in. Can you fit a third? I want your lips stretched wide around those fingers. I want your tongue sliding between them. Get them slippery and wet for me. Okay, baby? Good and wet. When you fist your cock, when you stroke it, I want it so wet you can imagine my mouth.” 

I moan for him again, my lips stretched wide with my fingers. 

“So good, Jared. So good for me. Making me ache, my filthy baby. Wrap those filthy fingers around your cock.” His breath hitches. “But don't move your hand. Not yet. Count. Nice and slow, Jared. Count out loud, baby, so I can hear you.” 

Wrapping my hand around my cock, my eyes roll back. A groan slithers from my throat. “One.” 

“I wish I had your pre-come on my tongue. Wish I could flick my tongue over the head, little flicks and swipes until you break and babble and beg. Count, Jared.” 

“Two.” I sob. “Fuck, Jensen. Please.” 

“I'd suck you down so good, baby. Your fingers would fist in the sheets as every last inch of you slides past my lips.” 

I bite my lip. Hard. The desire to move, to find pleasure, is so intense I shake. “Three.” 

“I'd hollow my cheeks and suck. Press a hand to your hips as you buck beneath me. And then I'd be moving up. Up, and my tight lips drag. Up, and my tongue strokes and teases. Up, and the head catches on my lip, my tongue darting out to probe and caress.”

For a long span of seconds I can say nothing, only pant. Finally, I whisper, “Four.” 

“When you get to five, I want you to stroke your cock. I want you to pretend it's my mouth. I want to hear your moans and your whimpers. Want to hear you writhe, hear you come. Are you listening, Jared? I want my name to be the last thing on your lips before you shoot, hot and filthy all over your hand. Please, baby, say five for me. I want it.” 

“Five.”

The first stroke makes my back arch. I moan for him. Just for him. 

“Jensen. Fuck. It's your mouth, it is. I can feel it. Those lips. Those fucking lips. I'm fucking crazy for you. Want you so bad.” 

“I'm yours.” 

I whimper and whine, stroking myself to the sound of his heavy breathing. Always on edge, tortured to the point of insanity, I seek out and hide from the sensations at the same time. I want this forever. 

“I'm shaking. Jensen, please. I'm so gone on you. So,” I suck in a deep breath, moan, “so, gone. Please.” 

“You like that, Jared? Like my lips stretched around your cock? Like it when I hum around you? When the vibrations shiver and echo down every last inch? Do you?” 

“Yes. Jensen, yes.” Head thrashing, I bite at my lip. My hips arch off the bed, because Jensen's not here to hold me down. Imagining the heavy weight of him, my body spasms, throbs. “So close. Please.” 

“Please what, baby? Please keep sucking your cock, because I won't ever stop. Or please stroke my hand up your stomach? Please let my nails bite into your neck on the way up? Please thrust my wrist against your mouth and whine for your teeth to slide deep under my skin? Because, Jared, please. Please, baby. Bite me. Take my blood. I want to live inside you. Forever. Want to feel your greedy, sucking mouth clamp tight and drink your fill. Want to feel your moan vibrate up my arm as your come bathes my tongue. Give me what I want, baby. Come for me, Jared. Now.” 

“Jensen!” 

“So good. So perfect.” 

Moaning, the world goes white around the edges and pleasure explodes through me. I pant and whimper, tremble and sob. Biting into my lip, I taste Jensen's blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I haven't written a j2 au in so long. I really loved working on this. What do you think? Worth another chapter? (Or should I get back to work on my actual book? lol.)


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